


Many Happy Returns

by NoShipsLikePartnerships



Category: Pacific Rim (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Fluff, M/M, Post-Movie: Pacific Rim: Uprising (2018), Recovery, because Newt deserves to have a good day, but not that much angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-17
Updated: 2018-10-17
Packaged: 2019-08-02 22:09:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16313561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NoShipsLikePartnerships/pseuds/NoShipsLikePartnerships
Summary: January 2025: It’s the first time he’s seen a real live kaiju this close up, and it will probably also be the last.January 2036: It’s the first birthday he’s had since being free of the Precursors’ hold over him, but it will not be the last.





	Many Happy Returns

**Author's Note:**

> While checking the pacrim wiki, I noticed that Newt's birthday (January 19) is just a week after the breach is closed in PR1 (January 12). Naturally, I felt the need to write about that ;) (although, also according to the wiki, it's somehow 4 days between the stuff with Baby Otachi and the end of the movie, which seems odd? I always thought it happened on the same day, so for the purpose of this fic, let's just say everything happens between January 11/12) Uprising, meanwhile, has no timeline to speak of, other than '10 years later' so I just decided to go with mid-2035 (ish) which would make Newt's first Precursor-free birthday in 2036.
> 
> I tried playing around with a few things stylistically, so I hope they work. Also, I know we're nowhere close to January, but I don't have the restraint to hold off on posting this until then lol. So please enjoy this off-season birthday fic :)

_January 2025 - 34 going on 35_

 

It’s the first time he’s seen a real live kaiju this close up, and it will probably also be the last.

He’s on the ground, trembling, pleading, and he knows that this is it, this is how he dies and, no, the irony of the situation is not lost on him, thank you _very_ fucking much.

As Newt waits for the end, all he can think is that it’s his birthday in a week, and now he won’t make it to thirty-five. There are a lot of things he won’t get to do. He won’t reach that milestone, he won’t see the end of the war (though, if he’s being honest with himself, and what better time for honesty than now, he never really expected to), he’ll never argue with Hermann again, he’ll never _see_ Hermann again, he’ll never get to tell Hermann that—

Newt realizes, abruptly, that he’s still thinking, which means he’s still alive, which means that he hasn’t been eaten yet.

Why hasn’t he been eaten yet?

Not that he’s complaining, it’s just been a really stressful day and he’s getting tired of surprises.

Tentatively, Newt looks behind him and sees that Baby Otachi is also on the ground, unmoving. He breathes out a shaky sigh of relief and gets back up, slowly approaches it—

Only for them to go through the whole song and dance again about thirty seconds later, after Chau goes and gets himself chowed down on and, yeah, that is definitely an image that’s gonna haunt Newt’s dreams. That is, if he lives long enough, which is not looking too likely at the moment.

By the time the premature kaiju finally dies, all Newt can think is that he is so done with this whole goddamn day.

But hey, on the plus side, at least his chances of making it to next week just went up.

He’s forced to reevaluate those chances after he and Hermann Drift with the baby kaiju’s brain and discover that the plan won’t work. Also—holy shit, _holy shit_ that actually happened. The word ‘together’ is still ringing in his head, and all sorts of emotions are swirling around inside of him, though he’s not entirely sure which ones are his? He’ll have to sort that out later, if they don’t all die first.

Though if he’s going to die anywhere, there’s no better place he can think of than by Hermann’s side.

Newt almost kisses him then and there, just in case. He refrains, on the off-chance that the world doesn’t end, because there are other people around and Hermann has a rule about that sort of thing, and might kill him if the kaiju don’t beat him to it.

It’s still _really_ tempting.

Although...

Is it just him, or is Hermann looking at him differently? Maybe he’s just imagining it, or maybe he’s just hoping that he is, or maybe he’s projecting through the ghost Drift, and, boy, there’s a can of worms he doesn’t really feel like opening right now—

“You sure you’re okay?” Newt asks, mostly to shut his brain up, but also because he’s worried that Hermann might throw up again. Speaking of which... he digs around in his jacket pockets and pulls out a mint, the kind they give out at restaurants after a meal, and offers it to Hermann. Hermann exaggeratedly rolls his eyes, but accepts it anyway.

“Yes, of course.”

He looks about as steady as Newt feels, which is to say ‘not a whole heck of a lot.’ Newt blames it on the Drift. Yeah, it’s gotta be that. Definitely that and not anything else. 

The trip back to the Shatterdome is long, and they spend it mostly in silence, not quite looking at each other. They’re sitting too close together, they’re not sitting close enough. 

The second they’re off that helicopter, though, they’re running through the building as fast as they can. Newt doesn’t even think twice before supporting Hermann so that he can keep up, and they move as one down the halls. 

They burst into the LOCCENT and deliver their message, and wait. Again, Newt finds himself thinking that, if this really is the end (he desperately hopes that it won’t be), at least they’re together. He glances over at Hermann and, as their eyes meet, he thinks the feeling might actually be mutual. 

Their timing really sucks.

It isn’t the end, though, much to his surprise. Newt doesn’t believe in miracles, but even he has to admit that this is pretty damn close to being one. Not long after the breach is destroyed, there’s victory, and then celebration, and then, suddenly, kissing. 

Hermann is kissing him. Hermann is kissing him, in front of _people_. The realization is almost more mind-blowing than the kiss itself. 

It’s fireworks, every New Year’s and Fourth of July rolled into one. Except times a _thousand_.

And, okay, maybe that sounds a little  cliché , but that doesn’t make it any less true.

He’s not sure how long it lasts—it’s not that time has stopped, exactly, but more like it’s stopped existing altogether. Hell, maybe the world really has ended, it could be falling apart all around them right now and he wouldn’t even know it. If this moment is all there is, if this is his last, he’s okay with that.

Eventually the moment ends, and Newt is keenly aware of everyone’s eyes on them. Normally that wouldn’t bother him, but right now he feels weirdly self-conscious about it? Which he’s pretty sure is more of a 'Hermann' reaction than a 'Newt' reaction, but there it is.

Newt licks his lips, and they taste a bit like mint. “People are staring.” Okay, maybe not his smoothest line but, in his defense, he’s still a bit dazed by the whole thing.

“Are they?” Hermann asks, never breaking his gaze. “I hadn’t noticed.”

Well, damn. Now _that_ was smooth.

They’re mere inches apart, but even that feels too far away. His arms are around Hermann’s neck, and Hermann’s hands are on Newt’s waist, and he’s oddly reminded of being at a school dance. The thought makes him giddy enough that he almost laughs, but he doesn’t want to give Hermann the wrong idea.

“You sure about this?” Newt asks. “I mean, I know I’m awesome but I’m, uh, also kind of a mess?” He says it jokingly, but it wouldn’t be the first time he’s scared someone away.

“That, I _had_ noticed,” Hermann replies, and this time Newt does laugh. Hermann smiles, though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. There’s worry there, as well as relief. The fact that Newt’s had multiple near-death experiences over the past couple of days might have something to do with that.

Newt had honestly thought that Hermann wouldn’t have cared, that he’d be glad to be rid of him, but he can feel that it’s very much the opposite, to the point that it’s almost overwhelming. He suddenly feels like a jerk for that “unscientific aside” from his solo Drift, and hopes that Hermann never listens to the recording. “You’ll kill yourself” takes on an entirely new meaning—not one of dismissal, but rather, concern. Fear.

He’d been trying to protect him.

For once, Newt doesn’t know what to say. “Hermann—”

“I am never letting you out of my sight again,” Hermann whispers, and tightens his hold on Newt’s waist for emphasis.

Newt feels a warmth blossom in his chest, and a grin blossom on his face. “Is that a promise?”

Hermann kisses him again in response.

 

It’s a week later, and they’ve barely been apart since.

It’s also Newt’s birthday.

They’ve never given each other gifts for their respective birthdays, though Newt has always prided himself on buying Hermann the most obnoxious cards he can find, usually the kind that sing and never shut up. “Just like you,” Hermann had snapped one year which, looking back on it now, Newt supposes that was probably the point, in a subconscious kind of way.

Hermann had insisted on taking him out for dinner, though. They’d already had a big bash with everyone back at the PPDC—you only turn thirty-five once, and the fact that Newt’s even still alive at all is definitely worth celebrating—but who was Newt to argue with free food? Besides, it’s nice to be out. They haven’t left the Shatterdome much in the past week, so it’s like their first official date. Unless the Drift counts (and Newt thinks it should), in which case, this would be their second date.

Hermann waves a hand at their surroundings. “It’s nothing fancy, but...” 

“Dude, what are you talking about? It’s perfect.”

“You eat here all the time.”

“Exactly,” Newt says, pointing a chopstick at him. “You already know I like it. Can’t go wrong, there, right?” The restaurant is small, but cozy, and manages to be both vibrant and dimly lit at the same time. Newt’s always been a fan, and luckily it’s in the part of the city that didn’t get rampaged by giant alien clone monsters, so it’s still standing.

Hermann sighs, but there’s a fondness to it that does not go unnoticed. It makes Newt’s heart swell.

They work their way through several shared dishes, and talk (it feels a bit weird to have a conversation that doesn’t end in shouting, but it’s also kinda nice?). Now that the world isn’t ending anymore, they both need to figure out what they’re going to do next. Hermann, unsurprisingly, is thinking of going back to academia. Newt’s not really sure he wants to teach again, at least not yet. He’s been working for five years straight, longer than that if he counts his time at the Academy, and he needs a damn vacation. He wouldn’t mind traveling for a bit. It would be cool to see more of the world that he’d helped save.

He knows that it’s probably way too early in their relationship to even ask, but he hopes that Hermann will go with him.

The food on the table begins to dwindle, and Newt glances down at the menu, wondering if they should order more. He’s getting a bit full, but he’s having a good time and doesn’t want to leave just yet. “Hey, so did you want to get dessert, or—”

“Actually,” Hermann begins, and sets his cup of Oolong tea back down on the table, “I was thinking that we could go back to my quarters. Or yours, if you’d prefer.”

Newt almost chokes on his dumpling. “Oh,” he says, recovering. “Okay. Yes. Let’s definitely do that.” 

Despite being basically inseparable and making out like teenagers in their spare time—and they’ve had a _lot_ of spare time lately—they’d made the decision to take things slow. Personally, Newt thinks that the years of correspondence and lab-sharing definitely count as ‘slow’ but if that’s what Hermann wants, then he doesn’t really mind. They’ve got all the time in the world, now.

That being said, Newt’s never finished a meal so fast.

His brain doesn’t really register whose room they finally end up in, and he doesn’t particularly care. There are more pressing matters at the moment that he’d much rather focus on. His fingers fumble as they try to undo his shirt and, honestly, who thought shirts even needed this many buttons in the first place? (He briefly considers just ripping it off, but he only has, like, two good shirts. Although if he has to sacrifice one, he figures it’s for a worthy cause.)

He’s equal parts thrilled and terrified—thrilled because, well, _obviously_ , and terrified because, oh God, what if it’s terrible? What if _he’s_ terrible? It’s been a while, so he might be a bit rusty. It’ll be like falling off a bike, he tells himself. Wait, no, that’s not right. It’s like remembering how to ride a bike. That doesn’t sound right either and, shit, he doesn’t even _know_ how to ride a bike, this is already off to a bad start.

“Newt,” Hermann says, and it’s the first time he’s used the nickname. That definitely gets Newt’s attention, and his train of thought screeches to a halt. Hermann takes Newt’s trembling hands in his. “Stop thinking.”

Yeah. Okay. He can do that. That sounds like solid advice right about now.

Hermann reaches over and unfastens the rest of the buttons himself, which is pretty hot, actually.

Newt takes a deep breath and stops thinking, letting his instincts guide him. The ghost Drift fills in the blanks.

It ends up being the best night of his life. (He hopes there’ll be many more like it.)

 

* * *

 

_January 2036 - 45 going on 46_

 

It’s the first birthday he’s had since being free of the Precursors’ hold over him, but it will not be the last.

He’s sitting on the edge of the bed, watching through the window as the sun comes up, its light filtering softly through the curtains. Hermann is still asleep behind him, his presence silent but reassuring, as always.

If Newt can make it through the day without crying, it will officially be the best birthday ever. Or, at least, the best one he can remember having in years. Or, the only one he can remember having in years and, damn, this just got depressing, which is not really helping with the whole ‘not crying’ thing.

He takes several deep breaths to calm himself, counting between each one.

It’s been six months since he’d reclaimed his mind and body from the Precursors. He’s getting better at not thinking about it, and sometimes he even manages to forget, for a little while. But it’s still always at the back of his mind. He longs for the day when that will no longer be the case.

The Precursors might be gone, but there are still monsters in his head. He fights them every day.

Therapy helps. Hermann helps. He helps more than he’ll probably ever know, though Newt does his best to communicate how much it means to him. He tries to find ways to take Newt’s mind off it, to distract him from those thoughts. Sometimes it works. Newt doesn’t always have the heart to tell him when it doesn’t (he’s working on that, though, his therapist told him that it’s important to be honest about this kind of stuff, and she’s been right about a lot of things so far, so... yeah. Working on it.).

He’s another year closer to fifty, which feels completely unreal. He’d had a hard enough time wrapping his head around forty-five, after not remembering a whole lot about the ten years in between. ‘Middle-aged’ definitely does not feel like a term that should be applied to him, and yet, the grey that’s starting to show in his hair says otherwise.

Newt hears the shifting of sheets as Hermann stirs, and then feels arms wrap around him from behind. “Good morning,” Hermann says, and kisses the base of Newt’s neck, just above the collar of his t-shirt. “Happy Birthday, darling.”

“Mmm,” Newt responds, closing his eyes and leaning into the embrace. There’s nowhere he feels safer.

“We can stay in, if you'd like,” Hermann mumbles, his lips brushing against Newt’s skin.

The thought of spending all day in bed together is _very_ tempting. But Newt’s been hiding himself away in the apartment lately and he’d told himself he’d make the effort and go outside today. He doesn’t tend to go out unless it’s for his sessions, or short outings with Hermann. Being around people still makes him feel anxious, like they all know who he is, what he’s done, and will call him out on it at any moment. He understands that it’s an irrational fear, and he’s going to have to deal with it sooner or later. Today seems as good a day as any, a fresh start as he begins another spin around the sun.

“Nah,” Newt says, “let’s go out, like we said.” He twists himself around until they’re facing each other, and sees that Hermann’s hair is sticking up on one side. He should not be allowed to look this cute so early in the morning. Newt reaches over to smooth it back down, then changes his mind and messes up the other side instead so that it matches. “Besides,” he smiles suggestively, “we can make up for it tonight.”

“Yes,” Hermann agrees, “we can.”

Neither of them make any attempt to move.

Then again, Newt considers, it’s not like they need to leave _just_ yet. It’s still early, and outside will still be there in, uh, an hour? Maybe two? They can afford to take their time. It _is_ his birthday, after all. 

As if reading Newt’s mind, Hermann pulls him into a kiss, and they fall backward onto the bed.

It’s a while before they finally leave the apartment, but it’s worth it.

After finally being able to leave the PPDC a couple of months ago—it had taken some time for them to declare that Newt was no longer a danger to himself, or to humanity in general—he and Hermann had decided to relocate. They’d both been more than ready to get out of there.

Staying in Shanghai had been out of the question, and going back to Hong Kong would’ve felt too weird. As much as he missed his family and wanted to see them, he hadn’t been ready to face them yet, so Berlin was out, too. In the end, they’d landed on Boston.

Boston is good. Boston is familiar.

Boston is... pretty cold in January, actually.

Newt shivers and pulls his coat more tightly around himself. He doesn’t recall it being this bad, but between global warming and the effects of Kaiju Blue on the environment, the climate’s been pretty messed up at this point. Beside him, Hermann glances over and looks like he wants to say something but is refraining from it (yes, Newt knows he should’ve checked the temperature before grabbing the first thing he found in his closet, but he’s certainly not going to admit to the mistake now). Hermann, meanwhile, is predictably dressed in multiple layers, a scarf, and a poofy brown coat. Newt finds himself missing the green parka from eleven years ago, and wonders what happened to it. 

It begins to snow lightly, and he stares at it in wonder. It had rarely snowed in Shanghai and, as he’s kept himself cooped up in their apartment most of the winter so far, it’s been a while since he’s seen it up close. It’s oddly more magical than he remembers? (Mostly he just remembers it being a nuisance on the way to school.)

Like most things, he appreciates it more now.

He watches as their boots and Hermann’s cane leave prints behind them as they walk: _we were here._ It’s only a matter of time before the tracks will be gone, but it’s the impermanence of it that strikes him as being meaningful.

They head downtown, where a fleet of food trucks are gathered on each side of the street. The idea of sitting down to eat at a restaurant isn’t as appealing as it once was—too many people in a closed space, and Newt isn’t sure he’s ready for that yet. But food trucks? _Hell yeah._

Newt looks at the choices, momentarily overwhelmed. There are the more traditional ones, serving things like hot dogs, pizza, and tacos. There’s a dumpling truck with a cartoon Godzilla painted on the side, and it’s like it was made just for him. Another one appears to specialize in bacon, on _everything._ Further down the street is a dessert truck offering various combinations of cookies and ice cream, and, cold weather be damned, it’s beautiful.

He wants to try one of everything, and says so.

“You’ll make yourself sick,” Hermann cautions.

“It’s my birthday,” Newt says, “and I’ll puke if I want to.”

“Please, try not to.”

The Precursors had kept him on a pretty strict diet—they’d wanted their puppet in the best of shape—including doing a cleanse once, which was super gross. So, Newt figures he’s making up for lost time. He stuffs his face enthusiastically until he’s full, and regrets nothing.

“Oh, my God,” he moans, biting into an ice cream-filled cookie sandwich, “this thing is amazing. This is the best thing I’ve ever put in my mouth.”

Hermann arches an eyebrow. “Is that so?”

A piece of cookie goes down the wrong way, and Newt coughs to clear his throat. “ _Dude,_ a little warning next time.”

There’s a mischievous glint in Hermann’s eyes. Anyone else might think it a lingering side-effect of the ghost Drift, but Newt knows that side of him has always been there, even if he’s the only one who ever gets to see it.

He loves that there’s this part of Hermann that nobody else knows, reserved only for him.

He doesn’t know what he’s done to deserve this. He isn’t sure he deserves this. (He’s working on that, too.)

They spend the afternoon strolling, arms linked, down street after street of shops, window-shopping only at Newt’s insistence. A few things catch his eye as he peers through the storefronts, but he knows that if they go inside, Hermann will offer to buy them for him. Despite the fact that it’s his birthday, Newt would still feel bad about it—Hermann’s already done so much for him, and he doesn’t want to ask for more. Besides, all Newt really wants is to look, take it all in. Have an ordinary day. Most of their lives have been anything but, and he feels like that’s what he needs right now.

There’s a kind of beauty in the simplicity of it all, and he appreciates that more, too.

Afterward, they stop at a cafe to warm up for a bit, and then make their way to the park. There’s a skating rink nearby, and they watch as people—couples, friends, families—skate around on the icy surface. 

Families.

He knows that they’ll call later. He has no idea what he’ll say to them. The Precursors had forced him to keep his distance, and he hasn’t had the courage to speak to his dad and uncle for more than a few minutes every couple of weeks. Who knows what they must think of him now.

Newt stops and closes his eyes, takes several deep breaths, counts between each one. He feels a steady hand at his back, an anchor keeping him grounded.

“Are you alright?”

He opens his eyes and nods. “Yeah.” (Maybe. It’s hard to say? He probably is. _He will be._ )

Hermann leads him over to a bench, never letting go, not even once they’re sitting. “Just breathe,” he tells him.

“I’m okay,” Newt says after a minute. Hermann looks like he’s not quite sure he believes him, and he’s probably right not to. Newt’s not sure he believes it himself. They sit in silence for a while, watching the world move around them.

Hermann finally moves his hand away, and slips it into one of his overly large coat pockets, from which he pulls out a small package. He holds it out to Newt. “I was going to save this for later, but...”

“You didn’t have to get me anything.” This day was all he’d wanted. It’s enough. It’s more than enough.

He takes the package anyway, and examines it. It’s small and vaguely book-shaped and wrapped neatly in fancy paper. Newt carefully unwraps it, curious, and looks down at the object inside.

It’s a journal. Dark green, leather-bound, with an elaborate swirling pattern embossed on its cover. He gently runs his fingers over it, and finds the texture oddly soothing.

He’s been keeping journals, at the suggestion of his therapist, though they aren’t nearly as nice as this one—they’re just notebooks, in all sorts of loud colours to keep it fun. Well, maybe ‘fun’ is the wrong word. To make them seem less daunting, maybe. It helps, to write about... well, anything, really. The good days, and the bad ones, his trains of thought, wherever they might take him. Memories that he’d previously forgotten. Memories that he doesn’t want to forget.

“It’s a travel journal,” Hermann says.

“You taking me somewhere tropical?” Newt asks hopefully. He would not be opposed to warmer weather right now.

Hermann smiles, though it’s a bit sad. “I’m not sure if you remember, but... you once talked about seeing the world. Before—”

“Yeah,” Newt says quietly, “I remember.” It hadn’t worked out, for obvious reasons. He hasn’t thought about it in a long time, though. There are certain memories that hurt too much to revisit, and his once-future plans are among them.

“I was thinking,” Hermann continues carefully, “that we could start in Berlin. When you’re ready.”

It takes a moment for his words to sink in. Newt looks down at the journal, and then back at Hermann. “You... you’d do that for me?” he finally manages in a small voice, and hears an echo from eleven years previously, another night, another lifetime ago. It means as much now as it did then. Maybe even more, after everything that’s happened since. “You’d go with me?”

“Anywhere,” Hermann answers without hesitation, and grips Newt’s hand. “Always.”

Newt’s vision blurs, and he swipes his other hand across his face. So much for not crying today. 

“Newton?” Hermann asks in concern.

“It’s okay,” Newt says, and it’s the truth this time. He smiles. “They’re happy tears.”

“I confess, I wasn’t sure what your reaction would be...” Hermann trails off and gestures at the journal.

“It’s beautiful, I love it,” Newt reassures him. “I love _you_.” He never gets tired of saying it. He still marvels, sometimes, that he has someone to say it _to_. But he has loved this man for almost half of his life, even if it took some time for him to fully realize it, and he will never stop telling him at every opportunity.

“I love you, too, darling.” That the feeling is mutual is a bonus Newt had never expected (he knows that he isn’t always the easiest person to love), and he's infinitely thankful for it, today and every day.

Newt tugs at Hermann’s scarf, drawing him closer, and kisses him. It’s soft and it’s tender and it’s a promise. 

There are still monsters in his head, but he doesn’t intend to let them win. After all, he isn’t fighting them alone anymore.

Once the sun sets, they walk back, hand in hand, to their apartment. The snow continues to fall, glittering in the street lights, illuminating their way home. 

He doesn’t know if it’s the best birthday he’s ever had, but it’s the best one he can remember having in a long time, and that’s a start. (He hopes there’ll be many more like it.)

**Author's Note:**

> So this is my first time posting something from Newt's POV, which I was a bit nervous about, but it was a lot of fun to write. I'll admit I'm not completely satisfied with how parts of it turned out—I started writing it about a month ago, and kept getting stuck. I'm going to be out of town for the next few days, though, and just wanted to get it posted finally (I may come back and edit it a bit more later, who knows).
> 
> By the way, the food trucks mentioned [all](http://www.moyzillaboston.com/) [actually](http://www.bostonbacontruck.com/) [exist](https://www.thecookiemonstah.com/) and they sound amazing. 
> 
> As always, feedback is welcome and appreciated :)


End file.
